


my heart is full (and now it's spilling)

by blanchtt



Series: all these hearts in line [1]
Category: Thelma (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Post Canon, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 15:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13639170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: Anja's bedroom, familiar in the semi-darkness, is the opposite of her old apartment. Anja's sheets are soft and patterned and thick, now a mess; the closet door is only half-closed, filled to bursting with two wardrobes; and the desk is stacked with textbooks and folders and loose papers. It's home, quite literally now, comfortably messy in a way Thelma's quickly grown used it.





	my heart is full (and now it's spilling)

**Author's Note:**

> Hedawolf asked for Thelma/Anja + #210 freckled skin.
> 
> Writing these takes forever, fuck. Enjoy a tiny slice of life fic?

 

 

 

 

 

Thelma catches her breath as the bed dips, as she feels Anja shift and settle next to her, as she reaches up and wipes away tears from her cheeks with the tips of her fingers before slowly opening her eyes.

 

Anja’s bedroom, familiar in the semi-darkness, is the opposite of her old apartment. Anja’s sheets are soft and patterned and thick, now a mess; the closet door is only half-closed, filled to bursting with two wardrobes; and the desk is stacked with textbooks and folders and loose papers, a veritable Jenga of homework. It’s home, quite literally now, and comfortably messy in a way Thelma’s quickly grown used it.

 

She’d kissed Anja and Anja had kissed her back, and Thelma had felt like the stars had finally aligned. Nothing could make her happier. Of course with that she had had to consider her options and decided, at first, to keep quiet for a few months. There was time for everyone else to know, but it wasn’t now. But eventually, the difficulty of lying each night over the phone began to weigh on her, and she’d finally corrected her father.

 

She’d been living in the dorm with her parents’ support, no jobs lined up, and with that gone, she’d scrambled for housing. But merely a month later, it’s difficult to believe she hasn’t always been here, beside Anja in her bed, scandalously nude and quite satisfied.

 

Thelma feels Anja’s nose against her jaw, a kiss to the side of her neck, breaking her from her thoughts as Anja speaks, a low murmur against her.

 

“You okay?”

 

Thelma laughs softly, nods, turns enough to catch Anja’s eyes. Pride is not something she has in excess. It’s a little difficult to hold onto it once you’ve fallen and started seizing enough times in front of just about everyone, including your girlfriend.

 

“Yeah. I’m good.”

 

Anja makes a contented noise, slips closer, and Thelma feels Anja’s fingers trail lazily over her ribs, her arm, and down to her wrist. Anja’s hand settles on her bracelet, as it sometimes does, and Thelma tilts her head, feels Anja rest her forehead against her chin, and watches as Anja flips the flat metal band over, squints to read the inscribed medical information there that hasn’t changed since she was six years old.

 

“And the CBD?” Anja asks, tilting her head to look up, and Thelma sees her teasing smile, her eyebrow raised in question. Anja flips the band over again with her thumb, and settles into a rhythm, turning it counter-clockwise, careful not to pinch her.

 

“Helpful,” Thelma admits with a smile, and Anja laughs. With her upbringing it’s one of the last things she would have ever considered taking for her seizures. She hadn’t even _known_ about it until Anja had suggested it and made a convincing point, and now the haze of medication prescribed by her father is gone, the bottles of pills replaced with a different prescription and an e-cigarette.

 

Anja looks down and continues to fiddle with her bracelet thoughtfully, expression relaxed with relief, and Thelma watches her—hair mussed from when she’d grasped it earlier, dark nipples peaking in the cool air, a thigh slipped between her own.

 

When she’s with Anja’s friends, it’s surprisingly easy to sits next to Anja, to have Anja’s hand in her lap, playing with the rings on her fingers. When they’re out doing errands, calmness settles almost palpably over her when Anja takes her hand, threads their fingers together. And when they’re studying in the library or attempting to pay attention in class, the most innocent brush of Anja’s elbow against hers derails her thoughts.  

 

Anja’s touch—anywhere, anytime—is thrilling, and it is exactly what she’s craving at this moment.  Thelma extricates herself from Anja’s gentle hold, lifts herself onto an elbow, leans down, and steals a kiss from her, knows she’s smiling eagerly and doesn’t care.

 

“My turn.”

 

She slides against Anja’s body appreciatively, and seeks out each of Anja’s freckles.

 

Thelma reaches out, cups a breast with her right hand first, and kneads gently, something that she could do for hours just by itself, as enjoyable as it is. It doesn’t compare to touching her own breast, and it gets the most adorable noises out of Anja—and she does let out a little _ah_ , and Thelma feels a rush of warmth between her own thighs.

_The purpose of it all_ , she remembers, and leans and presses a kiss to Anja’s shoulder freckle at the same time, grins against her as Anja’s breathing deepens.

 

Next is the freckle near her elbow, and, parting from her shoulder, Thelma nuzzles along the length of Anja’s biceps, the crook of her elbow, and feels Anja bend her arm up a bit, allowing her to get to the beauty mark near her tattoo. That one has always been more ticklish than tantalizing, and Anja does let out a small laugh as the touch of Thelma’s lips, body jumping almost imperceptibly at the motion.

 

Anja has marks in many different places, all worth kissing. But Thelma chooses her path surreptitiously, takes Anja’s hand in hers and kisses her palm, and done with her arm, Thelma sits up a bit.

 

When they’d spent their first night together, she’d struggled with a sense of embarrassment as she’d toyed with the hem of her own shirt, wavering uncertain.

 

But now, clothing long thrown to the floor and abandoned, it’s flattering to bare herself to Anja, to see Anja’s eyes, pupils blown, to see Anja bite her lip. It makes her daring. Thelma bows back down, refusing to break eye contact, and can’t help but take a nipple into her mouth. Anja arches up into her, eyes closing as she moans, and Thelma closes her own, gladly takes more of Anja, nipping and licking and sucking.  

 

Her favorite freckle depends on a variety of things. She lingers at Anja’s breast long enough to work up Anja, moving between the one and the other, before pressing on.

 

Sometimes it’s the freckle on the back of her shoulder blade, though Thelma skips it now. It’s her favorite especially in the summer when Anja wears thin-strapped tops, easy to kiss in passing in public. In summer where she tends to burn Anja only glows darker, beauty marks almost disappearing at times, the one on her shoulder no exception.

 

Sometimes it’s the freckle just under Anja’s left breast—Thelma lets go, moves, and presses a wet kiss to that one too, Anja willowy enough to feel the dip and rise of her ribs. While it’s not the softest place to kiss, it is the one that so often leads to Anja cupping the nape of her neck, urging her up, closer. Anja’s sensitive enough to come almost from that alone, a fact that Thelma had taken great pleasure in learning.

 

But, obviously, it is the one on Anja’s inner thigh that might be her favorite, and Thelma, her own need growing, presses a kiss to that one too briefly before settling in comfortably between Anja’s legs, sliding her arms under her thighs, and pulling Anja closer to her, hands gripping her waist.

 

Thelma thanks god, ironically, for not listening to her half-hearted pleas to change her, to show her the right path, to banish these thoughts. The touch of her tongue on Anja is the only kind of worship she’s interested in nowadays, and Thelma dips her head, takes as much Anja as she can into her mouth, sloppy, and is content to end up sucking on Anja’s labia as Anja makes a strangled noise. _Now_ there are hands in her hair, the light prick of nails on her scalp, and Anja hissing—

 

“ _Fuck!_ Thelma, Jesus. Yes.”

 

What she’d once thought depraved she know revels in, and Thelma breathes in deep, takes in Anja’s warm scent, her taste, and, daringly, thinks she’d like her fingers to smell like Anja long after they’ve stopped fucking and simply drifted off to sleep together, too tired to keep talking.

 

Curious, Thelma looks up, but Anja’s back is arched, breasts with their pretty peaked nipples thrust forward, hips struggling not to buck. No matter. Thelma joins Anja and closes her eyes too, content to suckle—one hand stays on Anja’s hips, holding her still, and with the other she reaches down, enjoys the feeling of hugging Anja’s thigh closer to her face as she trails her thumb over the hood of Anja’s clit, down to the sensitive bud, and feels Anja jolt. She lessens the pressure, sucks and strokes in small tight circles as Anja’s breath gets decidedly more ragged.

 

At first the idea of Anja between her legs had been enough to make her grow warm and wet, but now this, too, has Thelma clenching her own thighs together, aching to reach down and touch herself. But that would mean letting go of Anja’s hip, not the best idea since Anja is taller and stronger and apt to squirm, and in any case Thelma’s found that sometimes the best orgasm comes after some denial. And right now is about Anja.

 

“ _Thelma_ ,” Anja whines, hips bucking, and so Thelma lets go and moves her hand to splay against Anja’s stomach and licks her way up to Anja’s swollen clit with strong, broad strokes instead, feels the hand on the back of her head urge her closer.

 

Anja is abundantly wet, likely a combination of Anja’s own need and her own sloppy work, and Thelma breaks her focus now and then to run her tongue the length of Anja’s cunt, to let her tongue dip into folds and valleys, hot and wet and slick, before Anja pants her name and Thelma knows where she’s really needed most.

 

It’s different being with another woman. It’s not the same as fondling her own breast or bringing herself to orgasm with her fingers. She does let go of Anja’s hips, frees up one hand and, in the tangle of warm, moving parts, manages to snake her arm under herself, maneuvers so that, without moving her mouth, her fingertips brush at Anja’s entrance, coating themselves in enough slickness to slide into Anja smoothly—when she moans Thelma’s name just so, Thelma knows it’s two fingers she wants. And with that, the end is most definitely near.

 

The types of orgasms she can bring Anja to—and that Anja can bring her to—fascinates her. She hadn’t realized there would be a difference. In fact, she’d hardly realized it was something two people could do for each other. They depend on so many things, she’s learned. Position, emotion, even her own timing as the month changes—all influence whether Anja grips the sheets and lets out a strangled _ah_ or jerks and groans her way to orgasm.

 

All of those ways, Thelma has decided, are of course equally beautiful.

 

And now it is a different kind, rare, Anja arching practically off the bed, keening, and Thelma sucks on her clit with a strong and measured rapidness, her fingers in Anja curling up and pressing against the tender wall inside her.

 

It’s apparently the kind of orgasm that has Anja at full-volume, too far gone to care about being loud, and Thelma feels Anja’s cunt clench spasmodically around her fingers. She renews her efforts, opens her mouth wider to take more of Anja, trembling, and finally hears Anja gasp sharply, her body go slack and laying back limp against the bed.

 

Thelma works her down, knows from experience in both giving and receiving to back off, to slow down. She laps instead at the abundant wetness she’s ignored, delights in drinking up proof of Anja’s enjoyment as she slowly stops trembling, as her breathing even outs, as the fingers in her hair clutch less and instead card somewhat haphazardly, not doing much to help the mess.

 

Thelma licks her lips, kisses her way up Anja’s body, visits the few freckles she’s forgotten to lavish attention on on her way down, and holds herself over Anja, though that’s promptly brought to an end as Anja’s arms encircle her waist, pulling her down. Thelma ends up instead with a thigh between Anja’s, careful of pressing too hard though, and lays on top of her, Anja’s hands traveling up to rest on her back, holding her close.

 

Anja smiles faintly, dazedly still coming off her high, and Thelma lets silence settle over the both, content to drink in the sight of her—for now. There's little to add that hasn't already been proven, _I love you_ written out in loving repetition by the movement of her tongue and answered back with shuddering gasps.

 

Besides, they’ve never been early risers, and the night is still young.

 

 

 

 


End file.
